


The Jilting of Julian Bashir

by MKK



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Abandonment, F/M, Hallucinations, M/M, Memories, Prayer, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKK/pseuds/MKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his deathbed, Julian Bashir looks back over his life, his triumphs and his regrets.  This story is based on "The Jilting of Granny Weatherall," by Katherine Anne Porter, 1930.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jilting of Julian Bashir

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a companion piece to "An Occurrence at Shar River Bridge."

He pulled his wrist out of the doctor's annoying and too-firm grasp. Him, a doctor - he didn't even look old enough for Starfleet Academy, much less medical school and years of post-graduate training. "Go on now, go away - don't you think I'd know if something was wrong with me? I was a doctor even before your parents were born."

Doctor Bowman placed his hand briefly on his patient's forehead, then clucked his tongue. "Easy, easy, this'll only take a moment; I'll have you feeling all better before you know it."

"If I was feeling better, I'd know it. Don't talk down to me - I hate it when people do that."

"Well, I'm sorry, Doc." Doctor Bowman squeezed the aged hand between his thumb and forefinger. "You're a tough old fella, aren't you? And sharp as a tack, too. But you've got to learn to take it easy once in a while, or we won't be able to keep up with you."

"Don't tell me how to behave - I'm only hiding in this room to get away from Tolia. She's following me around everywhere, watching me, deriving me crazy."

Doctor Bowman seemed to shimmer in the light, like a mirage or a shape half-glimpsed under water. It was all he could do to keep his eyes focused on him as he wavered in and out of existence, blinking like an old-fashioned lighthouse. "Get some sleep; I'll be back to see you later."

"Don't bother," said Doctor Julian Bashir. "Take care of the ones who really need you - I'll take care of myself. If I want you, I'll call you. Where were you during the epidemic on Mira Three - sixty years ago? Were you there helping me then? Don't let Tolia scare you - she doesn't understand that old people just need to rest once in a while -" He stopped; Doctor Bowman had turned into a jellyfish and was drifting past him and through the doorway. "Go on, get out of here," he shouted, "and leave me alone!"

At least, he thought he had shouted. Who could hear him, floating out here all by himself on the ocean? The waves gently embraced him and rocked him, lapping against the shore with a soft murmuring sound - no, two people were talking, Doctor Bowman and Tolia were talking outside the room. He splashed through the water and stood, dripping wet, at the door and listened.

"I don't understand - he was fine just a month ago. My God, he was still practicing medicine -" "But you know he can't last forever." "No, no - one hundred and twenty..."

Bashir smirked. Yes, and they'd better remember that; one hundred and twenty, and he could still run circles around any of them, including Tolia. She knew nothing about endurance, about fortitude, about steeling yourself and going on - about what it took to be the only doctor within two hundred light years, the only doctor when there was absolutely nothing you could do but watch them suffer and die - where was Ezri? "Ezri?"

"Daddy? Did you say something?" Tolia approached the bed.

"Yes - I want to talk to your mother."

She stared at him, puzzled - was the girl suddenly hard of hearing? "I thought I heard you say something." She must have gone; Bashir couldn't tell.

He tried to relax, tried to let the waves wash over him and not flinch at the unexpected wetness and then the chilly sensation when they withdrew. God, he was tired. He'd get up soon - please, just let me rest for a few more minutes and then I'll be doctoring Doctor Bowman. The know-it-all, the pompous, condescending- oh well, never mind, he could deal with him, with all of them in fact, tomorrow.

There was so much to do tomorrow; for now he could sleep, there was plenty of time tomorrow to take care of everything, put everything away once and for all. Eighty years of medical journal clips, bottles and tubes and hyposprays, all neatly labeled, neatly filed. Important to have everything all ready before he even began the day - "Doctor Bashir, can you help him?" - yes, he could help, he was prepared for anything, he had all his supplies and what he didn't have he could improvise. No room for uncertainty, for doubt, no reason to rummage through half-forgotten drawers and old files and crackly holovids looking for - what? He had everything he needed, too much even. It was time to sort things out, time to discard yesterday's debris, clean it up. The message clips - Garak's messages and Ezri's messages and his messages back to them - they'd all have to be gone through, gotten rid of. No use for them now- no reason to leave them for the children to discover, no reason to let them see exactly what their father had been like once, what his life and his plans and his dreams had been like, eighty years ago. No - he'd take care of all of that tomorrow.

He discovered something else in the clutter he was attempting to sort through, something new and cold and unexpected; what was it? Surely he should be able to recognize death - hadn't he experienced it, over and over and over again, hadn't he fought it and cursed it and eased its passage? Hadn't he once tried to embrace it? Yes, Tolia, yes, Devon and Julian and Jadzia, your father is old now, he's tired, he wants to be with - your mother - now - No, father, no, father! And he had obeyed, he had beaten it, he had gone on for another thirty years, old Doctor Bashir, the toughest, most intimidating son of a bitch at Starfleet Medical. He laughed, and the sound was like water bubbling over the rocks - he had beaten it. He'd show them. He'd swim back to shore and show them all -

"Tolia?" She reached for his hand. Strange - he had been drifting so far out to from the beach so far away - "Tolia, call Admiral -" Admiral who? Who did he need to contact today, to whip back into line? They were ALL afraid of him, every one of them - how they jumped when he called - "Doctor Bashir? My God- no, it can't be - what does he want?" He was important; he had influence.

Tolia was probably telling everyone yes, it's daddy and his delusions of grandeur again. Makes him feel needed - tell him Admiral Kaminsky called, tell him he insisted on speaking to him and will contact him again, tell him anything. Rotten spoiled brats, humoring him like a three-year-old. He could see right through them and their patronizing smiles - I hope you live to be old enough to have your children mock you, mock a lifetime of achievement, of approval. It meant something - his life meant something - HE meant something... didn't he?

They could never hope to reach the heights he had scaled. Hus name was still revered at the Academy; he was still called on countless times to give his opinion on countless Starfleet missions of mercy and research initiatives. He'd go anywhere he was needed, too - almost anywhere. Why, only five years ago he had traveled alone, by freighter, to the Aurigan colonies to assist during the plague outbreak. He had worked longer and harder than almost anyone else there. His children had said no, not a man your age, let someone else go, you've done your share, it's your turn to rest. Rest? He couldn't rest - not ever. He hadn't rested when they were young, had he? When Ezri had left him with four little children on Mira Three, when she had succumbed to the epidemic - he had gone on then, hadn't he? He had endured - raised four children, healthy and happy children, and all proud of him now, proud of their father, living in all different parts of the Federation. He wished he could see Ezri again, and tell her. See? Aren't they wonderful children? I did well with them, didn't I? I raised them right, you see - I could do it after all.

Oh, but Ezri would probably look at him strangely. Who is this old man? Where's Julian? Even their youngest, Jadzia, was much older now than Ezri had been. She'd never know him- she'd be looking for the young, handsome Starfleet officer with the velvet hazel eyes and the the slender body, and the soul so little accustomed to real hurt and rejection. But raising four children alone changed a man, raising four children and nursing countless others through the epidemics, through the wars, through the Klingon Purge - he had been insatiable, his thirst for healing could never be quenched, not even when he was surrounded by two hundred dying colonists and was desperately trying to breathe life back into just one of them. Ezri might be shocked at the sight of him, might be afraid, yes, but she would be proud too, she would respect him, she would honor his achievements.

He wanted to get out of bed and take over his own doctoring - he so desperately wanted to do it, wanted to push them all out of the way and go to work again, with his competent hands and willing spirit. The children couldn't do it all alone, not his own children, not the children now running Starfleet Medical. So much yet to do, so much to do tomorrow - what did he have to do tomorrow? He couldn't remember. The tide is coming in - Quick, children, get out of the water! When it rolls in, it'll overtake you, it'll wash you out to sea, it's too strong for you. Hurry - come back in!

And they'd come in, shivering and cold, their hair hanging in wet tendrils down their necks. Oh, but it had been glorious to wrap them all in a blanket and warm them, to hold them all closer to him and shut out the cold and the mist and the stars, so far away. Now they were all scattered, now he couldn't gather them in, now they were able to manage on their own. He had not failed them, he had kept them safe, he had protected them.

Be sure to donate my medical journals to the library on Mira Three - no, don't forget, be sure Kayla'a gets them, she needs them, she can make good use of them. Don't let them go to waste - information hidden in just one of those journals might have stopped the epidemic. No, don't laugh, they're too far away to reach the Memory Core, please get the journals to them... God, I'm tired. Please stop talking to me - please let your father rest.

The water burst into the room; it pressed against him, squeezing the breath out of him. Somebody, close the door! I can't breathe, I can't hold my head up. The water is beautiful, though; it sparkles like a million stars. The stars, through the observation window, and the shuttle, waiting to take him to his new assignment, his new ship. Chief Medical Officer - yes, he could say it over and over again and it would still sound as impressive, Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. How they had all crowded around him, how proud they had all been, every one of them. But where was he? Please, can we wait a little longer? No, please, they'll surely wait for their new Chief Medical Officer - Oh, God, Elim, where are you? The heavens were opening up all around him, but he was in hell, he was drowning in the pit of hell. He had pushed that day to the back of his soul, for eighty years he had tried to forget, forget the bastard who had left him standing at the airlock, his duffle slung over his shoulder, his heart pounding in sudden understanding.

Was that Ezri, running up to him? "Julian, he's not coming. Julian, he's not going with you - he's gone back to Cardassia, they're letting him go back, he didn't want to see you, he didn't know how to tell you..." So he hurt your pride, did he? Too bad, Doctor Bashir - too damned bad. You thought you were the great Starfleet god of medicine, every woman wanted you, so why shouldn't HE? Well, he didn't, and that's all there was to it, so you can manage without him. He surely must have managed without you - probably has ten children, a hundred grandchildren, all noble, upright citizens of the mighty Cardassian state. Good for you, Garak, and good riddance. My love... Why is the ocean roaring like that? Is there a storm coming up? Better close the windows - "Daddy? Are you all right?"

Of course I'm all right. Who asked me that, anyway? Devon? Jadzia? Julian? No, Tolia, stop crying, you make such funny faces when you cry, I always want to laugh and have to try so hard not to -

Tolia's face swam in and out of focus. She seemed to be screaming, her mouth hanging open in a hideous sort of grimace - Please, don't make me laugh, not now, it hurts to laugh. Are you trying to say something to me? Are you taking me somewhere? Where are we going?

"Oh daddy, daddy, oh no, daddy..."

"No? Good, then. I'm too tired to move."

"Doctor Bowman is here to see you, daddy."

"Doctor Bowman? Tell him to go bother somebody else, I'm tired. I don't feel like seeing him every few minutes - he was just here."

"No, daddy - that was yesterday. He wants to see you again."

"Hello, Doctor Bashir! Up and about yet?"

"I'll be up and about as soon as everyone decides to let me get some sleep." He sighed loudly and indignantly, but no one seemed to hear him, they seemed to be reacting to him as if he weren't even there, as if he were observing himself from a point far, far away. They were holding some type of device over him; it made a whirring, whistling sound like a transporter. A transporter? How many years since he had used a transporter? How many years since - He heard the hiss of a hypospray against his arm and he lay back in the waves, trying to drown out the roaring in his head.

Ezri? Where was Ezri? He searched frantically for her, calling out to her and wildly flailing at the hands that tried to pull him back down. There she was - so beautiful, still, so young, speaking to him from a great distance; she seemed ethereal, light as air, floating in the moonlight on the shimmering surface of the ocean. "Julian, you're here. You're here now," but it wasn't Ezri, it was Tolia - "Daddy - daddy, I'm here. Can I do anything for you, daddy?"

Yes, Tolia, yes, it's taken me eighty years, but I've finally decided that I want to see Garak again. I want you to find Garak. Find him and be sure to tell him I forgot him. I want him to know I had a good life without him, I had a wife, I had an important, distinguished career, and children even. A beautiful wife, and wonderful children that he never could have given me. I had everything I ever wanted, better than I had ever deserved. I got back everything he took from me that day and more, much more. But - oh God, no, there must be something else besides a wife and children and a career. No, that can't be all there is, there must be something more. What else? What did he keep and not give back?... He began to wheeze with the difficulty of breathing under water, and felt himself being lifted up and carried somewhere. Don't touch me, he pleaded, leave me alone, it's time.

Someone was praying - Tolia? Is that you praying? I used to pray, too. I used to thank God for my good fortune; I used to believe that everything worked in my favor, that all I had to do was give God my list of plans for that day, that month, that year, and he'd check them off one by one and hand the list back to me, accomplished. Oh God... then why not THAT plan? Where is he? Ezri put her arms around him and said, "Forget him, Julian - try to forget him. He's home now - he's back on Cardassia Prime. He's happy - you need to be happy now too." I AM happy, I received everything I ever wanted - did you know that, Elim? Everything. I hope you regret it. I hope some small part of you regrets, because I don't regret, not ever. "Wa annal hisaba haqqun; wa annal jannata haqqun; Wa annan nar haqqun..."

So there it was, nothing to take back, everything peaceful now, and complete. Ezri's hologram smiled at him from the wall. A good image, a pretty smile - but it was not his love, it was not Ezri. How can a hologram take the place of his lover? No hologram ever created would do that. The overhead lighting made the image appear to waver and float as he gazed up at Doctor Bowman, glowing like an ember.

"You look as if you're on fire, Bowman - it's a good thing you're in a boat -" Or a ship in space -

"He's trying to say something - what is he saying?"

But Doctor Bashir didn't bother to answer, for he was back on that station, back among those stars, and he looked at his hands resting on the tabletop in front of him, and he knew who was with him, he knew where he was and what he was saying. His heart was almost bursting out of his chest with happiness as he watched the stars suspended outside the window, listened to the soft voice of his companion, glowed deep inside as his proposal was accepted and his life was about to begin. So what if he decided to run away and not come with me after all? I'm a grown man; I don't need him, I never needed him, I built a life without him; yes, and a happy life too, with people who need me and who love me. And you can tell him that, Tolia, you be sure to tell him that.

The waves began to roar so loudly he thought his eardrums would burst - he felt himself being pulled out to sea - "Daddy, we're here, it's Devon, and Jadzia, and Julian, daddy, they're all here, they've all come to see you." Come to see me die, he thought, as they drifted away with the current - he struggled to catch up with them. Don't forget - my medical journals go to Kayla'a, and the house - the house goes to Tolia, she's the oldest but she needs it the most, and don't forget to tell Starfleet about the colony on Marcus Four, they need a doctor, I wanted to go -"

Tolia's voice rose and fell with the crashing of the waves against his boat. "Oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy..."

"Don't worry, Tolia - I'm not leaving, I can't leave yet, I'm not..."

Where is Ezri? "You're here." What if I don't find her - what if I never find her? He searched for her among the billowing waves, then dove down under the surface, down and down, and there was no end to it, no end to his death, he could journey forever and not find the end, as a small part of him remained on the surface and tried to find him again. He had to find him - the waves were about to take him, carry him off, lose him forever - Oh God, where is he?

But again he did not appear. Again the waiting ship, and the stars, and the cold lonely vacuum of space. Tears burned his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. Oh God, Elim - where are you? Please, God, no - oh no. He could not remember any sorrow deeper than this, because this sorrow wiped all the rest away. God, there's nothing more cruel than this - I'll never forgive him. With a sigh he fell back into the waves and let the ocean swallow him up.

 

The End


End file.
